Page 174 of Crew
Alex needed to go.
That's what I thought as I was now sitting between the guys in Jordan's truck.
We were driving around Roussou. We were waiting to find out where Alex would be, and that was Zellman's job. He was following Alex to wherever he holed up. Once he did, once he told us, he was supposed to go back to Taz's side and not leave.
"Are you sure you don't want to check on your sister?" Jordan's voice was low in his cab, taking the same left he'd taken for the fiftieth time that morning.
We were on a continuous loop through Roussou, just waiting, just tense, just... There were no words to describe this morning.
Thinking about it, I stomped down the same shiver I'd been having since we left the house.
There'd been rage.
There'd been pain, inexplicable pain. Remorse. Rage again. A murderous rage. A quiet cold seeping out of my bones--a hunger to inflict what had been inflicted upon.
Cross had taken the gun out, but Jordan grabbed it, saying, "No way, man."
"Jordan." Cross had pushed him against the wall. He took it back. "Goddamn--you don't know!"
"Yes." He'd put hands on Cross, paused, looked at me, and then shoved him back. "My sister was almost raped, fucker. Raped! Yes. I do goddamn know, and Z took the gun out of my hands that night."
I had frowned.
Jordan had laughed, sounding almost as harsh as Cross. He looked between us. "You didn't know that, did you? You aren't the only ones with secrets in this crew." He extended his hand, holding it steady. "Z didn't trust me then, and I don't trust you now. Give me the fucking gun, Cross."
Cross didn't do anything. He stood glaring at Jordan, until--I was frozen in place for that moment--he finally held it out.
Jordan had snatched it, swiftly, and handed it behind his back to me.
I stepped forward, taking it, my eyes holding Cross' as I did.
God.
My mouth dried.
She was in him too. She was blanketing him, protecting him, making him numb to feeling what had been in me for so long.
I paused, and without thinking, I pressed my palm to his chest. His heart lurched against it, pressing out to me, and it wasn't just him and me there. I swear I felt her. She really was in him. My insides split in half--someone was tearing me in two and doing it so slowly that I could hear every tendon breaking, feel the rip as every vessel burst open.
I choked up.
If that's what I felt, standing in front of him, looking into his eyes, and feeling his heart--I couldn't go there. I wouldn't. Not yet. Instead, I whispered, standing close until his forehead moved to rest against mine, "Just hold on."
His heart pounded three beats, all at once, and he jerked his head in a rough nod. Then his eyes closed, and his chest lifted as he filled his lungs. He was in control. For now.
Jordan tapped the back of my elbow, and I moved in response.
We had to go fast.
He went with me, back into Cross' parents' closet.
Jordan grabbed the gun's lock-box, bringing it down. It was still open. I put the gun in. Jordan locked it again, and I headed back. Jordan was right behind me, almost breathing down my neck. I was scared, for a split second, that Cross had grabbed a different weapon and gone on his own, but he hadn't.
I had to stop, just the slightest of pauses, but enough where Jordan grunted so he didn't run into me, and then I was moving forward again.
Cross' eyes were dark and almost soulless, but he was focused on me. He was holding on.
I took his hand, lacing our fingers, and I was the one who'd led us outside. I was the one who'd taken us to Jordan's truck. I was the one who'd made the decision that instead of one in the back and two in front, all three of us would sit together. And I was the one who'd decided when Jordan got in and asked, "Where to?"
